


Sunrise

by Luxie



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, I don't know why I felt like this was relevant to anyone, I just got sick of Hanzo being a lil' bitch ingame, I may or may not have a tech kink, Just accept your baby brother already!, Mentions of mutilation, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 13:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11336442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luxie/pseuds/Luxie
Summary: Genji may have forgiven Hanzo for what he did, but Hanzo is a far cry from having forgiven himself.





	Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Rating is for gore, body horror, mutilation and 'verse typical violence.

>   They are dragons. Of course there would be fire.

The first knock pulls Genji from his sleep, his bionic body parts whirring to action as his pulse moves from rest to alert. He had dreamed of dragons, orange flames dancing around them, making their scaled bodies look copper. The room around him is dark except for the faint green glow from his system.

The second knock is harder, impatient knuckles rapping against steel. Somehow it doesn't surprise Genji in the slightest to see his brother standing outside when the heavy door creaks open on rusty hinges.

Hanzo has his hair tied up, bow in hand, clearly straight from the night watch. He looks tired, but determined, as if something is on his heart that couldn't possibly wait until morning, but it must be a difficult subject to breach, because when Genji invites him in his brother wavers.

Combined with the smell of cigarillo smoke it is safe to assume that Jessie McCree has been telling Hanzo stories of the old Overwatch; tall tales, probably, or at least highly exaggerated stories of heroic encounters. Hanzo should know better than to believe all the gunslinger says. The past is not as clear as people claim, at least Genji has found it depends heavily on who is remembering it.

       

> Genji Shimada was 25 years old when he died. Few people that young die in peace, but for Genji it had been outright agony; not only because of the flames that consumed his body, but also because the one person he loved in this world had been the one to strike him down.
> 
> Hanzo. Stoic, infallible Hanzo with the perfect balance and devastating blows, sword slicing through the air as an extension of himself, precise enough to split an arrow in flight. Hanzo, who was devoted and driven, with a disciplined mind and his body like a weapon.
> 
> None of those things could be said about Genji. He had been neglecting his training. Too slow on his feet, not quick enough to recover from a blow. Timing off, stamina blown to hell by too much _sake_. The only edge Genji held over his brother, had ever held, had been in reading his opponent.
> 
> But this was Hanzo, his brother who he worshiped, who could do no wrong, especially not in Genji's eyes, not even as Hanzo fought to put a sword though him. To read his brother like that Genji would have to make him the enemy. He would have to strip away Hanzo's name and his face and the love Genji had for him. Worse, Genji would have to take advantage of what he saw, each misstep, every second of hesitation, and then use it against his brother. Not just to subdue him, or incapacitate him, no, Hanzo would not stop coming until Genji was dead; _kill or be killed_.
> 
> Not even to save his own life could Genji do that. Which might have been the reason why Hanzo was there to take his life in the first place, because of that weakness.

 

“Let us walk.” Genji offers and Hanzo steps aside to let him out into the graying morning light.

The weather in Hanamura had been changeable, like the mood of a teenager. Here, at the Rock of Gibraltar, it is much more constant; During the day the sun bakes down on the deck of the helipad and is only made bearable by the brisk gusts of wind from the ocean-side, which send sprays of saltwater over the railings, making everything rust and creak. As such, most of Genji's teammates prefer the cooling evening air.

Genji himself has a build-in HVAC-system, keeping his human parts both clean and comfortable no matter the weather conditions, but if pressed he would admit preferring early mornings such as this, where the rising sun battles the mist over the oceanfront.

Hanzo seems to have his own preferences for when he ventures outside, but they have very little to do with the weather; after just two weeks as part of Overwatch Hanzo is still the man who tried to kill his own brother, and his new teammates still cast him curious, sometimes judgemental glances and address him with lingering reservation. Aware of this, Hanzo has taken it upon himself to ease the period of adjustment for everyone, rarely venturing outside until after nightfall, when the temperature drops and the Watchpoint falls quiet. As a Shimada he understands that the fewer toes he steps on, the more hands may reach for his when he extends it.

Until then Genji will make sure the two of them are seen together around the Watchpoint.

“How are you finding your new life as a hero?” Genji asks as they scale the cliffs that shelter the structure that now serves as their only base of operations. It's a steep climb, but for Hanzo and Genji it is barely a challenge.

“Confined.” Hanzo replies dryly. “I am not accustomed to having my freedom restricted or my every decision evaluated.”

“The Petras Act was set in place for a reason. The UN are simply being more cautious this time around.”

“I was referring to your teammates.” Hanzo says, not bothering to hide his contempt.

“ _Our_ teammates.” Genji corrects patiently. “They will come around. They are just being protective.”

Hanzo seems to contemplate that, reaching the conclusion of, “You seem at peace here.”

“It was not always so.” Genji admits, “I don't know how much you have heard, but I left before the fall of the first Overwatch. I had come to be very unhappy. So I travelled, saw wonders and pitiful misery. I saw stars I had never seen before. Compared to my life with Overwatch it was lonely, but it was what I needed to accept my new fate.”

     

> Death did not being peace. Instead it brought questions and tough decisions. The offer of a life supported by artificial lungs, because his own had been singed by the fire. Limbs and armor of graphene, more machine than man, and what little man _was_ left, now nothing but scars and waxy remains.
> 
> At least the pain was gone, settling in its place a numbness, one of the mind as well as the body. One was temporary, the other was not.

 

“Your suit-”

“My body.” Genji gently corrects. He's not surprised when a look of distaste takes over Hanzo's face. After all, it had taken Genji more then seven years to accept his new self, Hanzo has barely even had the chance to reconcile himself with the idea of his brother being alive, much less that he is now part machine.

“Some of the panels come off, some parts can be replaced, but most of it is connected directly to my tissue. Without the bionic parts I would not survive, and so I must consider them a part of who I am.”

“So when you think of yourself?”

“I think of what you see now.” Genji says, “Not the young man you knew.”

Hesitantly, “I see.”

“I don't think you do, brother. But maybe someday you will. I hope so.”

Between heartbeats Hanzo's face tells a story of loss and grief, of self-loathing, and then, a frail glimmer of hope that he can one day forgive himself. His brother is still so easy to read. Ten years apart and he hasn't changed as much as he himself would like to believe. He is still a leader, still a dragon. Still Genji's big brother.

“Do you think of yourself as a man with no legs?” Genji asks then, as they reach the top of the cliffs, now pale pink from the rising sun.

“Of course not.”

“Yet they are not the legs you were born with, not flesh and bone.”

“They have purpose.”

“Like your bow.” Genji points out. “When you nock an arrow, draw the string and aim, does it not feel as a part of yourself?”

Hanzo does not answer with words, but his body gives him away. His eyes widen a fraction: surprise. His pinched lips slacken: realization. His hand clench and unclench, fingers twitching around the arrow that isn't there: understanding.

      

> More than anything it had been a matter of combat strategy and convenience that led Genji to Mercy's office in the medbay. He felt clumsy in his suit, the graphene a poor replacement for skin when it came to judging force application and proximity to his surroundings.
> 
> “I can upgrade your suit to give you the illusion of touch,” Mercy said, when he had explained his predicament, “small sensors in the outer layer of the plating should do the trick. Through the connection in your spine they can be programmed to provide a sense of proximity and pressure.”
> 
> It was not the final upgrade to his suit, but it had come to be the one Genji was most grateful for. The first time Mercy activated the new panels and brushed fingertips over the soles of his feet Genji gave a full-body shiver.
> 
> “Too sensitive?”
> 
> “No. It was just unexpected.” Genji assured her.
> 
> Mercy continued to check each panel while monitoring his reaction, adjusting a few sensors in intensity, mainly his fingertips.
> 
> “The sensors in your hands are extra sensitive, which should give you an approximate idea of texture, at least with time and practice.” She said and added, “You understand this will also cause you to feel pain.” She jabbed his upper arm with her stick to prove her point.
> 
> “My own brother meant to take my life.” Genji told her bluntly, emotions still raw. “No pain will ever exceed that.”
> 
> Mercy stopped her examination, hand lingering against the panel of his elbow, and she seemed uncertain, uncharacteristically so.
> 
> “I know it's none of my business,” She said, “but if your brother was as excellent a swordsman as you say, then why did he burn you?”
> 
> It was a forward question, very unlike her, forgoing her usually impeccable bedside manners, but Genji knew it stemmed from the genuine curiosity of a combat medic, who resented unnecessary violence.

 

They sit next to each other on the uneven surface of the rock, cross legged and inches apart. Genji thinks this is the closest he has been to his brother since their fight in Hanamura. It would give Genji a frail hope that Hanzo is closer to accepting Genji's new form, if not for the fact that Hanzo is still clearly uncomfortable, nerves pulled tight as a bowstring. Maybe, if he can get his brother to talk about the easy things, the difficult words will find a way as well.

“Angela asked for you.” Genji attempts. Hanzo has been actively ignoring the doctor's request for a full physical examination since his arrival. “She just needs to compile a medical profile on you. The basics: allergies, old fractures, stem cell extraction.”

“No blood type?”

“She only uses plasma transfusions.” Genji explains and Hanzo doesn't ask or comment further. Genji knows his brother doesn't trust Angela in the slightest. If Hanzo is glad that his brother is alive the sentiment doesn't extend to the woman who saved Genji's life. Genji is unsure how much of it has to do with his brother's aversion to Genji's new form, unnatural and alien, and how much is a projection of Hanzo's own resentment for being the cause of it.

“I was surprised to learn you had picked up the bow.” Genji tries again, determined to get words out of his brother, one way or another. “You used to say it was the weapon of a coward, that a real man looks his opponent in the eyes.”

“Maybe I looked my opponent in the eyes and discovered that there are other ways to be a coward.” Hanzo says, then, “Maybe I was a coward all along, too spineless to stand up to the elders when they told me to kill you.”

     

> “Hanzo had me cornered, trapped; a wall at my back and a fifty meter drop to the side, and I was gravely wounded.” Genji told Mercy, as she continued her calibrations in silence. “Up until then I had fought only to deflect his attacks, but I knew my life was running out; in a way, I had accepted it. So this time, when Hanzo launched, I did nothing. I looked my brother in the eyes and I let him sink his sword into me, until the hilt met resistance. Then I looked down to see his hands covered with my blood and all I felt at the sight was rage, a rage at the world for cutting my life short, for putting my blood on Hanzo's hands. Even then I could not hate my brother, but I let the rage overtake me. I pushed Hanzo back and he stumbled, unprepared for me. He knocked over a _tōrō_ and the the flames spread quickly. I remember Hanzo catching fire, I remember watching as it climbed up his legs. I was bleeding out, Hanzo's sword still embedded in my ribcage. When the fire reached me there was nothing I could do.”
> 
> Mercy frowned, “Jesse found you on the streets of Hanamura.”
> 
> “I don't remember how I got there. I suppose I must have struggled over the railing and taken the plunge, decided that the fall was a better way to die than the flames.”
> 
> She was silent for a long time, gaze focused on the panels of Genji's suit. When she spoke again her voice was thick with emotions, sadness and anger.
> 
> “Do you know what happened to your brother?”
> 
> “He survived the fire. His feet and calves were severely burned so they gave him bionic legs. He uses a bow now, instead of a sword.”
> 
> Mercy nodded and Genji wondered if she thought the punishment fitting of the crime. “Maybe he couldn't bear to pick up a sword after leaving one sticking out of your chest.” She said, almost an afterthought.
> 
> Genji smiled to himself at the absurdity of that idea. “Perhaps.”

 

“What I did to you was unnecessary.” Hanzo continues and there is a heat in his voice that tells Genji that they are closing in on whatever his brother has been wanting to say.

“You mean, if I had just stood still you would have killed me painlessly?” Genji uses his teasing voice, the one he used when they were young men and Hanzo became too serious and self important. Genji was the only one who dared tease Hanzo and the only one who could get away with it.

“I did not act like a brother.” Hanzo admits and he sounds so earnest. “What I did, it was not what our father would have wanted. I should have tried harder to reach out to you, to get you to understand the pressure we were facing, the scrutiny of our enemy.”

In front of them one of natures most exquisite displays is unfolding, but Hanzo has his head turned, looking at nothing but Genji.

     

> “Do you think you will ever see him again?” Mercy asked, tapping both of Genji's knees in turn, watching him kick out. She made a note on her computer.
> 
> “One day. When I am ready. When the time is right. For now, there is too much pain wrapped up in Hanamura Castle and I could not look into my brother's eyes without feeling the agony of that day cut through me.”

 

Genji almost opens his visor to meet Hanzo's eyes, like he had the day in Hanamura when he revealed himself to his brother. What stops him is the sudden understanding, a feeling more than anything palpable, of what Hanzo needs, of what he came here this morning looking for.

“Do you remember when we were children and Ori became blind?” Genji asks, “Do you remember how scared I was that something like that would happen to me, even though father told me that nothing like that would ever happen to a Shimada, as if a dragon was _untouchable_.” He knows his brother can't see his smile, but he must be able to hear it in the way Genji's voice tease out the last word, because Hanzo's severe features softens somewhat.

“I remember you kept touching my face,” Hanzo says, “determined to memorize the ridge of my brow and the slope of my nose.”

Genji laughs at the memory. He is aware that his metallic voice grates Hanzo ears, yet another reminder that his younger brother has changed, but this time Hanzo answers Genji's laugh with a soft, downcast smile of his own.

“Maybe I should have done the same,” Hanzo adds after a pause, smile faded.

Genji wonders if Hanzo is remembering the last time he saw Genji's face, how there had been blood at the corner of his mouth, his eyes wide with pain and fear.

“My face has changed, but so have yours, brother. “ Genji says softly, reaching up to swipe a finger over the coarse strands of Hanzo's beard. The texture is unfamiliar to his sensors.

“You don't like it?”

“I do. It's very regal.”

“You are teasing.” Hanzo says, looking more displeased than he sounds, and Genji can't help but think that Hanzo must have missed it, Genji's flippant teasing. It must have been ten lonely years, being the Dragon Lord with no dynasty, no clan and no friends, his only company the ghosts of his family.

“Close your eyes.” Genji says. Hanzo scowls reluctantly at the childish request, but obeys in the end, eyes shutting tightly as he waits for Genji's fingers on his face. Instead Genji takes Hanzo's hands in his, palms up, and leads them to his own face mask. Hanzo's face falls into a frown, but he keeps his eyes shut and doesn't fight Genji as the tips of his fingers tentatively make contact with the cold surface of Genji's mask.

“In the beginning I had to relearn the texture of everything I touched,” Genji says, leading Hanzo's fingers carefully. “It was harder than I thought it would be, but I knew I had no choice. My body was marred and fractured, rebuild and alien, but it was what I had to work with and I would make it work. I was determined.”

He lets go of Hanzo's hands, slowly, and is pleased when Hanzo continues on his own, fingertips finding the lines of Genji's visor, the edge between graphene and palladium-alloyed glass.

“The first few years I was happy playing the hero game, but slowly I grew increasingly aware of all the things that had been stolen from me. A chance to build a future with someone, to have someone touch me, want me.” Genji almost stumble over the words, awkward in the moment, but important. “I was afraid that, to accept this new me, I would have to leave the old Genji behind, give up on his dreams and his desires. I knew that if I did, then Shimada Genji would truly be dead and I would be no one, a ghost.”

“But you did not become a ghost.” Hanzo points out, crease between his brows.

“I did, for a while. As you did, brother. But now we are here.”

The moment sweeps through them both, like the breeze coming in from the ocean. Hanzo looks somber, regal as always, as he considers Genji's words. Then he drops one hand, the other coming to rest against the side of Genji's face with the thumb pressing against the center of Genji's forehead. With a smile Genji mirrors him, fingers making contact with Hanzo's cheek and recognizing the texture of skin.

They sit like that for a while, the sun rising and their thumbs pressed to each other's forehead. Somewhere in his chest Genji feels his dragon stir, a familiar sense of belonging edging its way into his being.

     

> Calmly Mercy reaches over and takes hold of Genji's robotic hand. He feels her grip, tight and warm against his new sensors. “Maybe one day you will see your brother again,” She says, “and the pain will be gone.”

 


End file.
